Anish Easwar
Senior Copywriter
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Questions I Ask The Mirror

Ancient superstition suggests that mirrors reflect the shadow of our soul and that we can truly see who we are, in our reflection. While I am not the most avid believer in the words of our ancients, I have, on more than one occasion, asked myself some difficult questions in the hope that my subconscious would hold the answer. 

This blog represents nothing more that a few opinions and a lot of insecurities relating to the events that occur in my day to day life, that have been extracted from the deepest depths of my journal. I put these thoughts into words not because I seek answers. Neither do I strive to be understood through this medium nor do I search for closure. 

This book is in existence simply because I believe that the truth is an author’s greatest asset while writing a piece of fiction. 

Close for Comfort

I struggle with the concept of death, probably because I am unable to fully grasp the finality of such an event. I had always assumed that when death knocks on my door, 20 odd years from now, I would have lived a full enough life not to mourn my own passing. But something happened that forced me to re-evaluate everything I understood about the reaper and his workings. This afternoon I received a text that didn’t say much, yet said enough to leave me gasping for oxygen. The specifics of the message elude me but the word ‘cancer’ isn’t something I wanted to see written in the same sentence as the name of one of my closest friends unless it was to say that she had found a cure. Which in this case, she hadn’t. 

I somehow assumed that I was too old to ask the question, ‘Why do bad things happen to good people?’. The naive child within me refused to accept the facts put forth by my rational mind. It screamed in despair. It cried out in frustration. I broke down and requested for the smallest ray of hope. Yet in that moment, none was forthcoming. What followed was a frantic attempt to get in touch with someone, anyone who could help me get in touch with her. The only piece of information I was able to acquire was that she had left town and wasn't accessible by any of the mediums available to me. I assumed the worst. She didn't exactly have a the best track record when it came to calculated decisions and had it been any other circumstance, I wouldn't have given it a second thought. But for a 21 year old to be told that she is a ticking time bomb doesn't exactly help when it comes to putting the future in perspective. 

I guess the frailty of our existence is something that our youth never really has enough time to comprehend. Perhaps it is our attitude to blame, the attitude that make plans for tomorrow as though it were a given. This news really helped put my life and my choices into perspective. Death was no longer something I would laugh about as I sat with my friends. Suddenly it didn't feel like an ordinary event in the distant future. The idea of my impending doom wrapped around my neck and choked me. 

I managed to get in touch with her later that evening. I poised myself for the fragile state that she was bound to be in. I knew what I’d tell her. I’d say that everything was going to be okay, that she would survive this and that we would be right with her every step of the way. But when the video chat began, I was completely thrown off. As her calm and cheerful demeanor greeted me I began to wonder if I had been fed false information of her illness. We spoke of old times and new like any two people catching up after a significant period of time would. As the conversation began to stagnate, I decided to address the elephant in the room. She told me that she was diagnosed with a stage 1 brain tumor with a smile and a shrug and picked up the chatter right where she left off as if I had asked her what the weather was like outside her window. 

Because our bravery is never called into question on a day to day basis, we often tend to believe that it does not exist altogether. That the most appropriate reaction to sorrow is distress. I was almost disappointed when she didn't need comforting, surprised that she wasn't in tears. Didn't she value our relationship enough to spill her heart? Or was her nonchalance genuine? Was this her defiance in being defined by her condition? 

I tried to clear the fog of pity that had formed over my eyes. She would continue to live each day like she was dying. But if her end did call then she would have died like she lived. With a smile upon her lips. And that is what we would always remember her for. 

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